


Whole Lives

by Claudia_flies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Avengers, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fun times at avengers tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: They find the dog by accident. 

  It’s tied to a concrete post with a thick metal chain and a wide leather collar near a guard station, seemingly left behind. It stares at them all and growls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just something silly I wrote while horribly ill this weekend. Beta’ed again by the lovely [Zilia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia), who had to see me while I was gross and ill and very distracted.
> 
> This fic was very much inspired by [yawpkatsi’s](http://yawpkatsi.tumblr.com/) art for [Bucky and FUBAR](http://yawpkatsi.tumblr.com/tagged/bucky-and-fubar).

_“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”_  
—Roger Caras

 

Bucky is here. It’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember anything, doesn’t want to remember anything, doesn’t want to hang out with Steve, leaves the floor every time Steve walks in. Jesus, the most time they’ve spent together has been strapped in the Quinjet on mission flights.

Steve hates that he feels this way, it’s selfish and petty. Bucky is safe. He has a home, food, safety and a job he seems to like to a degree. He speaks Russian with Natasha and out-shoots Clint at the range on a regular basis.

Steve should be happy for him. A good friend would be happy.

He’d shown up at the Tower not two weeks after D.C. Long before Steve and Sam even had had time to plan out their search mission. He’d been dressed in a nondescript jacket and won baseball cap, his hair pulled up in a loose ponytail.

He’d let Tony examine and calibrate the arm without complaint, much to Tony’s glee. In exchange for having such a technological marvel in his presence, Tony had given him an entire floor of the tower, the same as the other Avengers. Sometimes Steve wonders if Tony is amassing enhanced individuals under his roof like a collection. He has decided not to ask.

In the beginning they had all jointly made a decision that Bucky should not be part of any missions or Avengers activities. They had all been in an agreement until a call had come in about an AIM facility in Carolina and they had all suited up. Without anyone’s say so, Bucky had shown up at the landing pad dressed in generic black combat gear and armed to the teeth.

Steve had objected but Bucky had just grunted at him and gone into the jet. Nobody had stopped him.

Tony had argued that they had no time to herd the “Winter Bear back into his cave”, so Bucky had come with them, and everyone else had avoided Steve’s pleading eyes. Ultimately, Bucky had taken down over fourteen AIM agents and saved Clint’s life. After that, no one had argued anymore when he showed up at the landing pad geared up and ready to fight.

Eventually, Tony had designed him a custom black combat suit and fitted several guns and rifles to his specifications. Steve had tried to stay away from the lab floors when those consultations were taking place. It was too painful to see Bucky and watch him return Steve’s gaze with a blank stare like he had only a faintest idea of who Steve was.

In the thick of it, he still watches Steve’s six. Bodies suddenly falling around him, clean headshots, tidy and accurate as always. He always says “Thanks, Buck” into the comms but never gets a response.

He tries to get used to it. To this new Bucky who lives alone and barely talks to anyone. Who avoids Steve and speaks in grunts on monosyllabic retorts. He can only takes solace in the files that he stole from Dr. Cho’s lab after Bucky’s physical, which state that while he has many scars and extensive cybernetic enhancements as well as an advanced healing factor and muscle mass provided by some kind of bastardised serum, he is not in pain or suffering any particularly adverse effects.

He reads the files sometimes before going to bed, imagines running his hands over those scars, soothing the long-ago hurt. Afterwards, he feels dirty and ashamed of his own desires and shoves the files deep into his dresser vowing to never look at them again. He usually only lasts four days until he’s digging the file out again from under his socks and underwear.

It becomes a perverse sort of cycle where he wishes for missions and action, just for the chance of seeing Bucky, spending time with him, hearing his gruff “Clear” over the comms and knowing he’s with them. Then feels guilty for wishing for bad things to happen, for wanting to put the team at risk for his selfish desires.

This particular mission had been fairly standard. An international paramilitary group deep in the Kazakhstan wilderness who had somehow acquired the technology for a rudimentary AI interface to take control over several Russian missile launch sites. The group had been wholly unprepared for a full on Avengers level assault, and for a brief moment Steve almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

By the time most of the compound has been cleared, the main laboratory and weapons cache is reduced to smoking rubble. They’re moving their way through the back of the complex clearing out any stragglers and making sure all the generators have been powered down or destroyed.

They find the dog by accident.

It’s tied to a concrete post with a thick metal chain and a wide leather collar near a guard station, seemingly left behind. It’s huge, with mottled black and grey fur. It stares at them all and growls. Paces back and forth in clear show of anxiety and dominance.

Clint shrugs and then motions down the path between two smoking buildings. “Guys, we gotta go.”

Wanda shakes her head, rooting herself on the spot, looking at the dog with a cocked head, but not moving closer.

“We can’t just leave it here.”

Clint looks back and forth between her and the dog.

“Well, are you going to go and get it out? No? Then let’s go.”

Wanda is still rooted to the spot, looking at the dog.

“We can’t just leave it, it’ll die.”

“Why don’t you just grab it and fly it to the jet then?”

Tony motions at the dog impatiently, the red of his gauntlets flickering in the hazy sunshine. Wanda just shakes her head.

“I don’t think it would like that.”

“Well, I’ll grab it then!”

Tony makes a move towards the dog, but Wanda’s suddenly outstretched hand stops him. She’s looking at the dog, strangely still like she is looking at something in the the far distance.

“It won’t like that either.”

“Well, someone has to get it if you don’t want to leave it.”

Natasha sounds fed up and bored at the same time through the comms. She’s already at the jet, putting the bird through her pre-flight sequencing. Steve is ready to order everyone to move out.

While they are all bickering Bucky walks past them, shouldering Tony out of the way with a click of metal and an outraged “hey!”

The dog starts to bark. Bucky keeps walking.

The barking gets an edge of distress to it and the dog walks back and forth by its pole, still pacing, but nervously now.

Bucky keeps going, his chest pushed forward, chin jutting out the same way he used to do as a kid. Steve doesn’t even know if he even remembers being a kid anymore.

The dog barks, higher in pitch, growly and panicked. Bucky just keeps going. He walks past the dog to the pole and rips the chain clean off with his metal hand, then he starts walking holding the chain like a lead.

The dog just looks at him, silent now. All the Avengers look at him too and then at the dog. Eventually, he reaches the length of the chain and it pulls taut between them. The dog digs its giant paws into the ground while Bucky’s metal arm whirs, calibrating ready to pull it.

“Whoa there Terminator, why don’t you try this.”

Tony throws him a nutrition bar from Seve’s pack that he’s somehow acquired in the fray.

“Well, you did say that they taste like dog food” Clint quips from the back, wisely having moved away as soon as Bucky released the dog.

Without looking, Bucky peels the protein bar from its wrapping and walks back to the dog. It doesn’t bark or move this time, just looks at Bucky with an unreadable dog expression.

Bucky shoves the protein bar into the dog’s face and it eats it, probably more from surprise than anything else. After eating the bar it follows Bucky to the Quinjet without complaint.

They both sit in the back of the hold, Bucky on one of the jump seats and the dog next to him on the floor. It has a thick fur and almost a bear-like snout. It snuffles the walls and floor with loud sniffs, running its nose over the straps and leads on the jump seat Bucky is sitting on.

“It’s an Ovcharka.”

Clint announces from the side of the hold, flicking and tapping on his phone. Natasha instantly corrects his pronunciation through the comms.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. It’s a caucasian shepherd dog breed.”

Bucky barks something in Russian to the dog and it lies down on his feet. He pats it on the side and the massive fluffy tail wags against the metal floor of the jet, the sound like a mini earthquake.

Everyone stays clear of Bucky and the dog for most of the flight, mostly because of the smell. It wasn’t so clear outside, but as soon as they’re all cooped up in the hold of the jet, it becomes very apparent that the dog clearly has not seen water or shampoo for some time.

Bucky doesn’t seem phased by this. His metal hand gently pets the dog’s sides and back where it lies by his feet. He doesn’t talk to anyone once they disembark. Just takes the dog into his apartment and closes the door.

No one sees him for several days, which is not unusual.

The next Steve hears about the dog is nearly a week later at breakfast in the common room kitchen.

Tony leans on the counter, fixing him with a piercing stare, his hair still standing up on end after an all-nighter in the lab.

“Okay Spangles, we gotta talk about your boyfriend and his new lodger.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Bucky is not his boyfriend. Has never been his boyfriend. Will never be his boyfriend, no matter how much Steve might want things to be different. At this point, he would be happy if Bucky would just talk to him.

“He’s started using that Amex I set him up with, which, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for, ‘cause we all need normalcy through shopping, but he’s spent five and a half grand in Petco. I’m not even sure if Petco even has enough merchandise to spend that amount of cash.”

Steve sighs into his hash browns. It’s too early in the morning for a discussion about Bucky.

“Tony, you gave him the card. If you don’t want him using it, just ask for it back.”

“What!? Me? Ask for a gift back?”

Tony seems abnormally outraged at the suggestion, clutching his chest theatrically. Steve counts down the days in his head when Pepper returns from her trip to Japan and will hopefully take Tony’s mind off all of his lodgers. But she isn’t back for another day or so.

“You misunderstand Cap, I don’t want the card back. I want to know what he bought from Petco.”

Steve pokes mournfully at his cooling breakfast.

“Well, why don’t you got and ask him?”

“And get murdered by him, or by his crazy bear pet. No, thank you. You should ask for me. You owe me. I let you live in my tower.”

“I could move.”

He could. Get a place in Brooklyn. A nice brownstone. But Bucky wouldn't be there.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I mean at all, Spangles. Can you just find out for me what he is doing? The house cleaning staff won’t go to his floor anymore.”

The breakfast is a kind of lost cause anyway now.

“Fine.”

Part of Steve expects the floor to be in a horrid state, considering there’s been no housekeeping or cleaning staff on the floor for several weeks. It’s not really the dog’s arrival that has scared everyone, it’s just Bucky in general.

Instead, when he walks through the lift into the main apartment it’s tidy and neat as always. However, there is a suspicious-looking rope toy by the sofa. It’s suspicious looking because it has been torn in half.

Then he hears it, a combination clickety clickety of nails and thump of a heavy body, and then the dog comes barging out from the hallway. It lets out a low bark at Steve and stops, bracing it’s huge paws on the floor. It really does look uncannily like a bear.

“Pyshki.”

The dog wags its tail and circles around itself for a moment, looking at Steve and looking back to where it came from.

“ _Pyshki!_ ”

The tilt of command seems to make its mind up and it scrambles back into the hallway and out of sight, its huge body surprisingly agile.

After a moment’s silence, Steve calls out into the hallway.

“Bucky?”

Bucky comes out, with the dog tightly at his heels. He’s wearing a dark gray hoodie and jeans. Steve wonders where he’s gone shopping, wonders if Natasha went with him.

They stare at each other for a long, considering moment. Bucky’s eyes are cool, not letting anything through the impenetrable barrier of his eyes. He never used to be like this. As soon as he thinks it, Steve realizes it for the lie that it is. Bucky did use to be exactly like this after Azzano. The cold barrier suddenly between them like a living thing.

He struggles for something to say, so what comes out of his mouth is:

“You named it Pyshki?”

Bucky shrugs, his metal shoulder moving with a surprising grace that Steve is still not used to, looking strangely uncomfortable.

“Yeah. It’s a kind of doughnut.”

“You named your dog ‘doughnut’?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…nice.”

Bucky just shrugs again, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“So, you got him some toys? Do you need anything?”

He makes a hesitant move towards the torn-up toy on the floor and feels bad when Bucky’s cheeks flush as if in embarrassment.

“No, we’re good. You can buy shit for dogs over the internet.”

He walks past Steve to the kitchen, pulls a crinkling bag the shape and size of a potato sack from the cupboard and starts to shovel kibble into a bowl. Pyshki stands and waits, his head tracking the motion of Bucky’s hand between the bag and bowl.

Bucky says something in Russian and the dog nearly leaps to the bowl and starts eating.

“He eats a lot.”

It’s the first time that Bucky has made any effort to start a conversation and Steve is painfully aware of how much he wants to keep this going.

“He’s like us that way, huh?”

And then it’s like shutters coming down over Bucky’s eyes. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid_. Why did he have to go and say that?

“Yeah.”

Bucky moves to walk away and Steve has to fix this.

“So anything else you figured about him?”

“A lot of the toys aren’t really very good for him. They break. Or maybe I break them.”

He holds up the two parts of the colorful rope toy in his hands, running his metal fingers over the fibers. Something in the motion makes Steve feel terribly sad.

“There was this toy that’s supposed to be unbreakable and he ate it in a day.”

Bucky puts the rope toy gently down on the coffee table and walks to the lift. He gets his gloves out of the little cubbyhole that serves as a coat and shoe stand and throws a baseball cap over his head. Pyshki pushes past Steve, clearly finished with his meal. His body presses into Steve’s side like a warm blanket as he goes past, wagging his tail at Bucky, who picks a lead and some kind of harness off one of the coat hook. He loops the harness over Pyshki’s chest, back and under his belly. Then, rather than going to the lifts, he walks to the end of the corridor and opens up the emergency access doors.

“You’re on the 68th floor!”

Steve can’t help the note of outrage in his voice. He knows that he could easily climb up to his own floor on the 74th story of the tower but he can never be bothered, not with the lifts. Bucky just shrugs.

“Yeah, it’s good exercise.”

Then Bucky and Pyshki both disappear into the dark stairway and the door clicks shut behind them, leaving Steve alone on the floor. He stands in the hall for a good long while, looking at the closed door.

He finds Tony in the lab again, tinkering with something that looks suspiciously like a mixture between a car engine and a coffee machine.

“He’s buying dog toys and food. And he got a dog bed and some kind of a leash and harness.”

Tony doesn’t even look up.

“For five grand?”

Steve shrugs even as he knows that Tony can’t see it.

“I don’t know, apparently the dog keeps breaking the toys. Or Bucky and the dog. And it eats a lot.”

“Breaking the toys, huh?”

Tony’s rubbing the side of his face in a way that they all are familiar with. It usually means four to five-day science binges in the lab and no eating or sleeping in between. Pepper would be most unhappy with him.

It’s not that Steve wants Tony to go on a manic binge, but he really, really wants to give Bucky nice dog toys and get him to talk more. The dog seems to be the way to go.

“Well, we could always go with those kevlar reinforced fibers we’ve been using for the combat suits… or, or! That new rubber alloy Brucie has been experimenting with, I just gotta get a squeaker in there….”

So, 48 hours later Steve finds himself again in the lift on the way to Bucky’s floor holding a big, blue IKEA bag filled with experimental super-dog toys. It included several variations or the broken rope toy he’d seen in Bucky’s apartment, squeaky toys made out of experimental (illegal) rubber alloy meant to deflect bullets and explosions, as well as, several bouncy balls that were, and he’s quoting Tony here, chew tested by the Hulk.

When he steps into the apartment, everything is quiet, until he hears the tell-tale hiss of the shower further down the corridor and then the click-clack, thunk of Pyshki rushing out of somewhere. Probably the bedroom.

He barks at Steve as soon as he sees him, but it doesn’t sound too aggressive this time. He crouches down; not that the dog necessarily needs that, it’s the size of a small cow.

“Hey there, boy. I got some goodies for you.”

He pulls out one of the rope toys. It’s long with three fat knots, the rope nearly as thick as Steve’s wrist. Pyshki perks up, clearly recognizing the shape and purpose of the toy, and lunges towards Steve.

Bucky walks into the living room twenty minutes later, only to be faced with the scene of Steve and Pyshki caught in a strenuous case of tug of war across the open living space. Pyshki is down on his haunches, butt wiggling in the air and growling as Steve drags him across the floor.

Steve sees him from the corner of his eye, still grinning stupidly at Pyshki. Bucky’s voice sounds disgruntled when he finally speaks.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, Tony made some toys, so I’m, ah, getting Pyshki to test them.”

It takes Steve a moment to realize that Bucky is standing in the middle of the living room wearing only his towel. His wet hair still dribbling, beads of water running down his chest and abdomen, slowly absorbing into the towel slung around his hips.

“Uh….”

Steve can’t help but stare at the smorgasbord of Bucky’s body laid so tantalizingly in front of him. Pyshki, seizing his opportunity, yanks on the toy right out of his hand, making him stumble and fall to the floor. Lying prone, down on his face, Steve finally understands he needs to let go, and Pyshki disappears behind the couch with his prize, rumbling and growling happily.

Steve hears Bucky turning around and walking back down the corridor and back to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Steve stays lying on the ground, looking helplessly at Pyshki’s face peeking at him from behind the couch.

“This is all your fault, you know.”

Bucky returns not long after, now fully dressed, and Steve tries to valiantly to not remember what he looks like under those jeans and the maroon henley. Steve has managed to get up from the floor and seat himself on the couch, behind which the dog is still hiding.

“Pyshki!”

He bounces out from behind the couch at Bucky’s command, the toy still firmly grasped in his mouth. Bucky gives the toy a few playful tugs with his left hand, the plates whirring as he pulls. Pyshki growls playfully, wagging his enormous tail like a rudder.

“Yeah, this is good. What else did you get?”

Steve tries to temper the small flare of hope in his chest and contain the smile that tries to break all over his face. He brings out all the different toys from the bag and Pyshki goes crazy with the squeakers, barking and running around the living room with two of them stuffed into his mouth, squeaking rhythmically.

They play most of the afternoon, throwing a toy between them over the vast distance of the living space with Pyshki racing between them, following the toy. Leaping over couches and side tables, trying to catch the toy from the air.

They don’t talk much, besides short questions which toy to pick up next or tactics for getting Pyshki to chase them around the L-shaped couches. It’s the most easy they’ve been with each other, and Steve prays that the day will never end, but it ultimately does. The moment is broken by the chirp of Steve’s phone and a call from Natasha to come down to the command center to review files from Fury.

As he disconnects the call, Bucky’s already dressed and easing Pyshki into his harness for a walk. He gives Steve a brief nod before disappearing into the emergency access door again, so at least that’s something.

Following the toy incident, Pyshki develops a deep and abiding affection for Steve. Whenever Bucky joins them for a movie night, which starts happening more often than not, Pyshki will leap over furniture and bodies of the other Avengers to get to Steve, wedging himself into the sofa and as far into Steve’s lap as he can. Which mostly consists of covering Steve’s entire body with his furry one.

Bucky glowers at the dog, calling him a traitor under his breath, but he does come and join them on the couch. He’s the only one, besides Natasha, brave enough to manhandle Pyshki around, lifting his ginormous body to get himself a seat.

Pyshki starts out lying over both of them like a huge fur blanket, but within fifteen minutes or so he will get restless and starts to wiggle, first around Steve, pushing him until he shuffles over, herding him until he is pressed flush against Bucky’s side. The following week he does it to Bucky, who makes a valiant effort to resist until he too succumbs to Pyshki’s whining and shoving, until the two supersoldiers are only taking up maybe one-fifth of the couch and Pyshki has claimed the rest for himself.

Not that Steve minds it one bit. Being pressed knee-to-hip against Bucky’s body over a two-hour movie is his idea of heaven, but ultimately he is more than aware that Bucky most likely does not share his feelings on their seating arrangement, and quietly offers to move from the couch the first time it happens.

Bucky only responds with, “Nah, leave it. He really likes you.” So, Steve stays pressed against Bucky’s body. Over the weeks he thinks that he starts to feel Bucky relaxing, letting Pyshki herd him almost good-naturedly, slumping into Steve’s side with a huff and a small smile. Steve lives for that small smile, waits for it patiently every Friday.

The playdates – that’s what Steve’s taken up calling them in his head – continue. Sometimes he gets new things from Tony and sometimes they just play with the toys Pyshki already has at Bucky’s apartment.

Steve starts bringing food. Pizza, burgers, burritos, and tacos. Then foraying into more adventurous territory with Thai and Lebanese food, and sushi.

Bucky eats everything, chasing the food down with copious amounts of beer, which affects neither of them. He seems to particularly enjoy burritos and Lebanese food, and Steve has a feeling it’s down to the huge quantities and calorific content.

Afterwards, he asks the kitchens to triple Bucky’s food order.

They settle into a strange routine of playing with Pyshki, eating, and Avengers missions around the globe. There are a few articles and press sightings of “the new Avenger,” but Tony’s ferocious legal team keeps most of the media away from anything to do with Bucky.

It’s an uneventful Tuesday when it happens. Bucky catches the toy with ease but doesn’t throw it back, looking at Steve with a strange, stilted expression. Pyshki whines and steps on the spot, trying to get Bucky’s attention.

“I’m not him.”

Steve’s taken completely off guard by the conversation.

“Who?”

“They guy at the museum. Your Bucky.”

“Buck...”

He isn’t ready for this. Isn’t prepared. They’ve never talked about it and Steve’s been happy learning to know this Bucky who is finally letting him be a part of his life. But now he is looking closed off again, almost blank.

“He’s not coming back. So if you’re waiting for that...”

“No, I’m not.”

Bucky gives him a disbelieving look and fear grips Steve’s belly like a vice. He can’t get this wrong.

“No, Buck, really, I’m not. Maybe sometimes I wish that you would remember me, but I know that we’ve both changed.”

Bucky lowers his hand holding the toy and Pyshki comes to nuzzle his snout into the toy, licking Bucky’s fingers. He drops the toy, but Pyshki just continues to lick and rub his snout on Bucky’s hand, whining softly.

“You know, Peggy said that, ‘the world’s changed and none of us can go back,’ I didn’t really want to believe her then, but I get it.”

“I hated her.”

Steve is again taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation and it must show on his face.

“What?”

Bucky grimaces but carries on.

“You used to be all mine, but then she came along and suddenly you didn’t see me anymore.”

“Bucky…what?”

“It used to be just you and me, together.”

He’s not looking at Steve anymore, his eyes fixed on the far wall. Pyshki whines, pressing his head against Bucky’s stomach until he looks down and pats the dog’s head. His face softens a fraction, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“He wanted things from you.”

Bucky fidgets with the fur between Pyshki’s ears, rubbing it between his fingers, and suddenly turns around and walks off, around the couch and down the corridor. Pyshki growls at him and follows, trying to corral Bucky back into the living room, but he just pushes the dog aside with his metal hand like he weighs nothing.

“Bucky, wait!”

He’s never been to Bucky’s bedroom. It’s as plain and tidy as the living space, dominated by a large bed that’s the same as all the other apartments Steve has seen in the Tower. Bucky’s putting as much distance between himself and Steve as possible in the room. The huge bed is like an ocean between them.

“I want things from you.”

There is a lump in Steve’s throat that’s making it hard to speak.

“What kind of things?”

“Things he…I have no place in having.”

Pyshki whines at that, moving to curl his giant, fluffy body around Bucky’s legs and hips, licking his hand with his pink, wide tongue. The distress is clear in his body, the way he’s holding himself against Bucky. As if on autopilot, Bucky’s hand comes up to scratch behind his ears, sinking into the thick fur again.

“I want things from you, and I know I shouldn’t have them, so it’s better if I stay away.”

“Buck, it’s okay to want things, to ask for things.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, Steve walks around the bed, trying to telegraph his movements. Pyshki’s body is braced against Bucky’s legs, keeping him in place. Bucky is still scratching the top of his head, watching Steve warily, but not moving.

Hope lodges in Steve’s throat like an errant chicken bone.

“Stop me if this isn’t what you want.”

His hands are gentle over Bucky’s cheeks, fingertips rubbing over the stubble. The kiss is brief and chaste, just a touch of dry lips, and then Steve pulls back. Bucky looks at him, incredulous, for a brief still moment and then lunges.

They end up on the bed in a mess of limbs and flesh, yet somehow Bucky’s mouth finds his. He kisses hungrily, sloppily, almost like he’s forgotten how. Steve cradles his shoulder, the back of his head and kisses back with best of his skill which, to be fair, is quite limited.

Bucky kisses over his cheeks and jaw, over his brows and nose, only to return to his mouth. Making desperate low noises at the back of his throat. Lips hungry and sloppy and wet. The kisses, the press and grind of their bodies is getting Steve hard. He tries to angle his hips away but Bucky won’t let him move an inch, wrapped around him like an octopus.

Suddenly, the bed shakes and the mattress dips and there’s a wet, rough tongue in Steve’s ear.

“Fuck, Pyshki, get off.”

Steve tries to push away the giant, furry body, but the dog won’t budge. Bucky barks something in Russian but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on Pyshki either. He seems to think that the point of this whole event is to form a giant puppy pile, and he tries to climb over Bucky’s back, to press them closer together. Steve is grateful that his erection has all but dwindled at Pyshki’s interference.

They may be two supersoldiers, but the dog is enormous and heavy. It takes them several minutes to disentangle themselves and lodge Pyshki off, who makes a valiant effort to stay on top of the pile. Eventually, he just rolls off Bucky, lying on his back on the bed and wagging his tail.

Bucky laughs, low and raspy in his throat, but it _is_ a laugh and Steve thinks that he might cry just from the sound of it.

They both spend a few more minutes rubbing Pyshki’s fluffy, warm tummy, listening to his contented rumbling. The fur and the heat are comforting under Steve’s palm. He can understand it now, a living, breathing thing that doesn’t judge you or know of your sins, that only lives in the now, with belly rubs and squeaky toys.

“Alright, buddy, time for some grub. What do you say, food?”

It’s surprising how fast the dog is on his feet and off the bed, racing out of the room and down the corridor.

Steve makes a mental note to thank Tony for the construction of the bed that clearly tolerates two supersoldiers and one cow-sized dog.

They make their way off the bed and into the kitchen, avoiding each other gazes, a tell-tale flush gracing both of their cheeks. Bucky fills the ginormous bowl with kibble while Pyshki whines and paces, waiting for it to be put down.

They watch Pyshki eat. It’s somehow easier than looking at each other. Talking about the things that they should. It’s no surprise to Steve that Bucky is the one who actually braves the conversation first.

“Is this really what you want? With me?”

He barely lets Bucky finish before the words are out of his mouth.

“Yes.”

“With the now-me?”

“You, now, then, forever, Buck. There isn’t a time when I didn’t want this.”

“Steve...”

Bucky rubs his hands over his face. It’s such a familiar gesture of exasperation, that Steve wants nothing more than to hold him, but he keeps himself back, giving Bucky his space.

“I’m not asking you to be him. I can’t, and it would be grossly unfair. I just want the chance to get to know you now.”

Bucky looks at him, but there is a pigheaded challenge in his eyes suddenly, like he’s figured a hole is Steve’s plan.

“What about Peggy?”

He’s never really picked Bucky for the jealous type, not with all the girls he took to the dance hall back in Red Hook, but maybe he should have.

“What about Peggy? I liked her, maybe loved her a bit too. I could have made a life with her if things had gone differently. I didn’t know that you and I was possible. Me having loved her doesn’t take away from loving you.”

“Love?”

There is such a cautious hope in Bucky’s voice, a kind of disbelieving wonder that softens the angles of his face. Steve wants to kiss him again. Never wants to stop kissing him.

“Yeah Buck, love. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel big enough of a word for what I feel for you.”

“Okay.”

Bucky nods, looking away as if having reached a decision. It’s at that point that Pyshki seems to have finished with his meal, pushing his nose into Steve’s palm all the while holding a rope toy in his mouth. Part of Steve is grateful for the distraction, brief moment that allows Bucky to turn away and wipe his eyes.

“You wanna play buddy? Huh? Huh?”

He drags the growling, wiggling dog across the living room and it starts another marathon session of tug-of-war.

Eventually, Bucky calls Pyshki to the door holding the lead and harness, but rather than saying his goodbyes, Bucky throws Steve a hoodie and jacket.

“Put those on, punk, it's time you did your share of the dog walking.”

Steve pretends that his eyes don’t get misty as he tugs on the clothing. They make their way down the dark stairway, both of their eyes easily seeing in the low light.

The caps and bulky jackets give them enough anonymity to walk through central park without interruptions, and anyone who might recognize Steve is most likely put off by Pyshki’s size and energetic tugging of the lead every time he sees a pigeon.

It starts to drizzle and most of the paths empty out quickly. Neither of them are too bothered by the rain, enjoying the unusual quiet. They’re almost halfway through the park when Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand. Bucky grips his hand back with fierce desperation and doesn’t let go until they are back at the tower.

They spend the evening watching TV on the couch and Steve makes a stack of ham and mustard sandwiches which Pyshki tries to unsuccessfully steal on several occasions. When stealing fails he turns to begging, pathetically whining at both of them until Steve breaks and feeds him pieces of ham when Bucky’s not looking.

As the evening darkens into night Steve doesn’t really even think of leaving and heading up to his own floor. Bucky throws him a set of sweatpants and a t-shirt after he comes back from changing and Steve finds a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.

When Steve comes out of the bathroom, Bucky is already in bed and Pyshki is lying on the floor of the bedroom like a giant rug. They go to sleep respectfully on their own sides and wake up in the morning tangled in each other like two deep-sea creatures huddled for warmth.

It’s still early and Steve tries to extract himself from the fray, embarrassed by his persistent erection and morning breath. But Bucky jolts awake at the first movement of Steve’s arms, turning his head so that their noses bump, and then they’re kissing, morning breath be damned.

Bucky gets his tongue into Steve’s mouth and Steve gets his hands under Bucky’s t-shirt. The skin of his side and belly is hot to touch, smooth, and Steve wants to map it with his mouth. He can feel Bucky’s dick against his thigh, hot and hard, and grinds his own into Bucky’s hip until they’re both moaning. It’s good, it’s so good and Steve breaths curses and wordless words it into Bucky’s mouth.

Suddenly, there’s something cold and wet on his calf, and Steve turns to look, only to see Pyshki’s head, chin pressed into the covers and his wet snout on Steve’s skin. Bucky swears and tries to hustle Pyshki out of the room but as soon as he closes the door Pyshki starts to whine and scratch the wood.

Eventually, they give up and let him in, Pyshki happily settling his big body on the floor next to the bed. Steve buries his face into the pillows, the back of his neck blotchy red.

“I can’t do it with him watching.”

Bucky laughs deep in his belly and it makes everything good again.

Pyshki, happily distracted by his morning kibble, doesn’t see them sneaking into the bathroom together and locking the door behind them, stripping and shoving each other into the shower.

They jerk each other off under the hot spray of water like two teenagers. It’s over embarrassingly fast, but Steve’s too happy and too high on endorphins to feel any kind of shame in his pathetic lack of stamina. He’s been waiting for this for over seventy years.

Bucky won’t stop kissing him, even when they’re toweling off and trying to get dressed, Bucky keeps pushing him against walls and the sink and the side of the walk-in wardrobe, seeking Steve’s lips with his own.

“If you keep this up I’m just gonna go off again.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Bucky hand is on his dick, feeling him over the soft material of the sweatpants. It turns out not to be a bad thing, getting each other off in the closet. Steve is very aware of the irony in that.

After that, Steve mostly moves into Bucky’s floor. He isn’t sure if anyone notices until the next movie night where they start out already sitting squashed together on the sofa leaving Pyshki ample space to spread out.

“Boyfriends! Told you.”

Tony holds out his hand and both Clint and Bruce rumble and slap down twenty dollar notes on the outstretched palm while Steve looks on in outrage. Bucky just gives them all the finger and then cuddles into Steve’s side with Pyshki’s head in his lap.

Wanda looks at them then, her eyes strangely forthright and piercing.

“You see, this is why we couldn’t leave him behind.”

Then she smiles, wide and pearly white teeth, and turns on the movie.


End file.
